


A New Life

by heeroluva



Category: Naruto
Genre: Body Horror, Choking, Crack Treated Seriously, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Inflation, Other, Stomach Bulge, Tentacles, ToT: Monster Mash, Urethral Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12529656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: Gaara's sand starts acting strangely after he comes back from the dead. Touching him. Slithering around the room when he tries to meditate. Making strange shapes he can only see from the corner of his eye.





	A New Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mornelithe_falconsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mornelithe_falconsbane/gifts).



Gaara doesn’t notice it at first, not really, but eventually he can no longer deny it. Since he was brought back from the dead, his sand has been acting strangely. Slithering around the room when he tries to meditate, despite being certain that he’d sealed his sand within its gourd. Making strange shapes he can only see from the corner of his eye.

Touching him.

Opening his eyes from his repose, Gaara instantly frowns and glances at his empty gourd. He is positive that he hadn’t called his sand to him, that it hadn’t acted in his defense, cannot feel the pull on his chakra required to sustain his armor of sand, yet it’s covering him anyway. Rising to his feet, Gaara strips out of his robes, and naked he crosses the room to his bathing chambers, standing in front of the full length mirror located there.

Closing his hand in a fist and opening it again, Gaara watches the motion in mirror, then shivers as his sand ripples around his form. He’s used to the touch of his sand, used to it acting on its own in his defense, having long ago embraced the power, but this is different. Intimate even.

“What are you?” Gaara asks his reflection.

The kanji for “mother” appears on his chest.

Gaara shivers again for a different reason, shaking his head in denial. “No, I’m no child to believe that dream again. My mother is dead, and you are not Shukaku.”

The sand shifts again, first to “protector”, then his own name, then mirrors the kanji for “love” on his head.

Frowning at his reflection, Gaara watches as the sand solidifies at his side, mirroring his naked form.

“We are you, the personifications of your desires, you desire to never be alone, your need to protect, your longing for touch, your wish for love.”

The clone steps closer, and right before its lips press against his, Gaara’s eyes open. Shaking his head in confusion as he finds himself still resting on his meditation mat, Gaara looks at his gourd and finds it still sealed and full. Had that been a vision? A dream?

Calling his sand to him, Gaara’s heart races when it’s slow to respond, a trickle of fear shooting down his spine as his hair stands on end. His entire life, when he could depend on nothing, his sand had always been his, the one thing he could trust without reservation to protect him and never hurt him, to always come to his aid. And now it hesitates.

The fear gives way to anger, and Gaara’s sand suddenly speeds towards him, but he denies it, pushing it away. He will not play this game. He doesn’t notice that a portion of it had split off from the rest and moved behind him until it was too late, slipping around him and immobilizing him until the rest can join in, sealing Gaara in a cocoon of sand.

A sand clone appears in front of him again, and when it raises its hand to Gaara’s face, he slaps it away. “Do not touch me!”

“Why do you fight yourself?”

“I don’t know what you are, but you aren’t me.”

“But we are, we’re the parts you hide away, that you don’t want the world to see. You can’t hide from yourself.”

As the clone disintegrates before his eyes, Gaara shakes his head. “No, I do not believe that. You are something else.”

“We will show you,” a thousand voices echo around him.

The sand flows around him, surrounds him, embraces him, and Gaara can do nothing as he’s touched. He’s worn his sand against his skin countless thousands of times, but this is different. There’s almost no friction as it slides across him, leaving goosebumps in its wake as it unerringly seeks out his sensitive spots. Gaara grits his teeth as the sand tugs at his nipples, a strange whine rising in his throat at the unexpected pleasure the action brings, not knowing that they were so sensitive. He can no longer hold the sound back when it tightens around his rapidly rising cock and squeezes his balls, parts of him that had never been touched by any except his own hand.

“Why are—”

Gaara’s question is cut off suddenly by a thick tendril of sand that shoves itself into his mouth and down his throat. Choking and gagging around it, Gaara panics as his air is cut off, and immobilized as he is, Gaara is helpless to do anything about it. It’s not a situation he often finds himself in, and he doesn’t like it. Flaring his chakra will draw his guards, but Gaara won’t risk them. Despite the current evidence to the contrary, a part of Gaara is certain that the sand isn’t trying to kill him.

An unexpected rising pleasure cuts through Gaara’s panic, the sand never stopping its manipulation of his body, and even as he feels his conscious slipping, the pleasure continues to intensify until an orgasm unlike anything Gaara has ever experienced before crashes over him. Brain and body overloading with ecstasy, just as Gaara is certain he will pass out, the sand removes itself from his airway. He can do nothing but gasp for breath, his body twitching and shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm as the sand falls away and tenderly lays him out on his rarely used futon.

“Why?” Gaara asks later, rolling onto his side to look at the sand spread across the floor.

The sand shifts and his kanji appears in the sand.

With an angry swipe of his hand, Gaara brushes it away.

 

Council meetings are often boring, sometimes educational, but always necessary. Today’s meeting seems to have fallen into the boring category. When Gaara notices some of his sand flowing from its gourd, he doesn’t outwardly react, but his attention shifts to it, to the way it slips beneath his clothes, to the way it wraps about his cock, to the way that it pushes against his asshole.

Gaara rises to his feet suddenly, causing all eyes to turn to him. “Please excuse me. I am not feeling well.”

All but running to his quarters, staff and guards dodging out of his way, Gaara’s killer intent rising into a near tangible thing with each step that he takes. Finally locked within his room, Gaara summons his sand to him, relieved when it answers his call as it always had. His cock throbs with desire.

“Show yourself,” Gaara orders.

The sand solidifies before Gaara, taking on his form once again.

“Never do that out again. You may do what you wish to me within the confines of these rooms, but you will not do such a thing outside of them again.”

The clone bows. “As you wish. In this room you cannot hide from yourself.”

The grin that it gives him when it raises its head again is one that Gaara is certain that he’s never seen on his own face before, but Gaara doesn’t let it unnerve him.

Gaara doesn’t fight as his sand strips him bare, doesn’t fight when it shows him that he knows nothing of the pleasure his body is capable of feeling, doesn’t fight when he learns that the pain makes the pleasure so much more exquisite.

The tentacle that fills him had started thin, but has since grown to massive proportions, and Gaara isn’t certain his body will recover from it. When his stomach begins to round slightly from the amount of sand flowing into him, Gaara presses his hand against it, half in curious wonder and half in alarm. A cry is ripped from him, Gaara’s attention diverted when a slim tendril of sand worms its way into his cock, exploring places that aren’t supposed to be touched. His balls feel heavy and his cock aches, his back arching as he seeks an orgasm that just won’t come. Beneath his hand, his stomach continues to swell.

Moans fall continuously from Gaara’s mouth, and his voice is rough and garbled when he speaks. “What do you gain from this?”

The sand doesn’t answer right away, but when the impression of a hand bulges out his stomach from within him beneath his own hand, Gaara lets out a startled cry.

“I have always been with you. I am the desert, rebirth and renewal, eternal and ever changing. I am your mother and your father. I am your children and your children’s children. I am you. When you die, Gaara of the Sand, you will join with us again, and the desert with become you. Just as I came to your birth mother and gave her you, I give you a new life.”

Gaara’s eyes grow increasingly wide with each word that echoes in his head, and he shakes his head wildly in denial. “No, that’s impossible. I can’t—you can’t—”

“Too late.”

A thicken tendril of sand sinks does his throat, and Gaara can do nothing but watch as his stomach continues to grow.


End file.
